


From the life of a servant

by Elenyafinwe



Series: Servants [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Party, Family, Friendship, Gen, One Shot, Rivendell | Imladris, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenyafinwe/pseuds/Elenyafinwe
Summary: Rethtulu, Elrond's valet, does not care much for his begetting days. However, both Elrond and Rethtulu's family see it differently, and so he is unceremoniously forced to celebrate the day.
Series: Servants [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076924
Kudos: 6





	From the life of a servant

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Aus dem Leben eines Diensers](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/732222) by Elenyafinwe. 



Today was Rethtulu's begetting day, but otherwise this day was no different in any way from his usual working days. He rose shortly after sunrise and prepared his work for the day. The time when his master, Elrond of Rivendell, was still asleep had to be used.

Ceomon, the other servant of the lord, watched him frowning as he put on his armour while holding the barely noticed greeting card from the Rethtulus family.

"I know you don't care much for your begetting days," the Noldo said. "That's why, at your request, I haven't reminded Lord Elrond, even though he tells me to every year. But, between you and me, don't you think you'd like a few hours off? In fact, when was the last time you had time off?"

"Sixty-seven years ago at Lanthiriel's birth," Rethtulu answered immediately. "And that was only because Lord Elrond had been there and my mother had asked him to."

Ceomon shook his head. "But you still have a family, unlike me," he reminded him.

"Duty is duty," was the dry reply.

Ceomon gave it up. They prepared for the day and then did their work. It was already late morning when Lord Elrond got out of bed, which was when the real work of the day began. However, after Elrond was sufficiently awake, he remembered that today was Rethtulu's begetting day. He called his servant to him.

With a stern face the lord sat behind his heavy oak secretary and eyed his servant.

"I am sorry that I forgot your begetting day again," said the master. "But you should have reminded me. Or Ceomon. Did you tell him not to do it? Rethtulu, you have a family, they want something from you again sometime. I looked in my books: The last time you had a day off was sixty-seven years ago, and that was only because I forced it on you. That has to change!"

The "But, Lord ...!" was already on his tongue, but then Rethtulu remembered his position. He was, after all, only a simple servant. "Of course, Lord," he therefore said.

"You have the day off, of course," Lord Elrond concluded his punitive sermon.

This time it was harder to hold back the protest. "As you wish, Lord," Rethtulu said simply. What was he supposed to do with a day off!

"Now be glad of it for once!" exclaimed Elrond. "I will get along for one day just with Ceomon. Now go, I don't want to see you working again today."

There was no question, of course, that Rethtulu thought entirely differently of the matter. With a scowl on his face, he stepped outside the door where Ceomon was already waiting for him with a broad grin.

"Did you say something to him?", Rethtulu snapped at him.

"No, nothing, I swear!" defended Ceomon. "Besides, Lord Elrond is right, you are neglecting your family. Now go to them and tell that wild bunch of elves that you have the day off. I'm sure your mother will be pleased, she can bake such wonderful cakes after all."

Rethtulu made an expression as if he would die a thousand deaths. Ceomon laughed, went back to his work and left Rethtulu alone in his suffering. With a heavy heart, Rethtulu decided to go into the clutches of his extended family after all. He looked for halfway decent clothes among his few belongings, but this turned out to be a challenge. His servants' clothing usually consisted of steel plate armour, for he knew from painful experience with his previous lord Maedhros that not every lord showed consideration for his subordinates when enemies came into view. It had not been uncommon for the lord to ask Maedhros for his armour, which he had then had to put on him, and immediately rush into the fray. And in very few cases had Rethtulu had the opportunity to put on his own armour. After he had had to go into battle unarmoured even once, he had been wearing his armour all the time ever since. It was specially made by Mírdanrod, the husband of his niece Niquis, so that he could put it on quickly and without help.

Since he was usually only to be found in armour, he now had the problem that he hardly had anything else to wear. Finally, he decided to put on his parade uniform, which he always wore when going to official state visits or receptions for Lord Elrond. It should look good enough for the day. Then he made his way to the valley where his family lived in several houses.

A little shyly he knocked on the door of his parents' house. Actually, Lord Elrond and Ceomon were right, he showed his face here far too seldom ... But what could he do? He had dedicated himself to service and in this profession there were hardly any free moments. To serve meant to give oneself body and soul to one's master. That was what he did.

He looked back at the manor house. He did not want to know what chaos would reign there tomorrow ... Just more work waiting for him. Elrond was a true master of wreaking havoc, he had driven this art to perfection.

At that moment the door was opened and Hílyalandur, Rethtulu's father, stepped out. When he saw his son, his eyes grew bigger and bigger in astonishment.

" _Seldonya!_ " he exclaimed. " _Natyeta!_ "

Rethtulu's family was very old, his parents were even still Awakened from Lake Cuiviénen, and so Quenya was still the common language at home with them, however distinguished and stubborn it might seem. Moreover, they even used their Noldosindarin names exclusively towards strangers.

"Nildawen, quickly!" called Hílyalandur into the house. "Alacenandur is here!"

"Father, please ..." objected Rethtulu, embarrassed. "Now don't make such a fuss about it."

"Yes, my son, I will," he countered in a tone of conviction.

Just then, Rethtulu's mother, Nildawen, joined them. Without pausing in her run, she fell around her son's neck.

Of course, it was every mother's concern what her offspring wore, and this time, too, Nildawen brought up this very subject as the very first thing to be addressed.

"Son, what are you _wearing_ again?" she chided him.

After all, Rethtulu was doing without his sword, which he usually carried; even to take up his sword, he had lacked time many a time in his service to Lord Maedhros.

"I have nothing else, Mother," Rethtulu grumbled.

All that was needed now was for her to pinch his cheek. Of course, she did just that at that moment, beaming broadly all over her face.

"Oh, what the hell! Who cares about such things when our youngest is finally off!" exclaimed Nildawen.

That was the lot of every last-born, I suppose: They would always remain to their parents the little bundles of joy of their childhood days, even if, like Rethtulu, they were ancient even for elves.

"Come with me to our garden behind the house," Nildawen said. "Then let us quickly set the table and fetch the others."

Rethtulu screwed up his face. All the rest of his family too! Seeing his four older siblings again was definitely a pleasure, but all his nieces and nephews together could be terribly exhausting.

So he followed his father into the garden of the house and helped him to set up and lay the tables. Meanwhile, Nildawen had scurried back into the kitchen and started rattling all sorts of cutlery and crockery. Soon a tantalising aroma of cake flowed through the house, making one's mouth water. Hílyalandur, meanwhile, had begun to decorate the garden with garlands with the help of his son. Protests from Rethtulu were of course nipped in the bud.

Finally, Nildawen seemed to have prepared everything so far that she only had to leave the cake in the oven long enough. She took off her kitchen apron and knocked on her children's and grandchildren's door to let them know that Rethtulu had been given the day off. Only minutes later, they were all standing in the family home, shaking hands and giving hugs to Rethtulu. Embarrassed, he stood in the midst of all the elves and kept saying thank you nicely and quite sheepishly.

"You are always away far too often," Malcimir, his only brother, scolded him. "Do you know how tiring our sisters are when they have only me to occupy themselves with?"

"They still have their husbands and children, after all." Rethtulu did not see where his brother saw the problem.

"But they are all not so easily annoyed as Malcimir," laughed Alcariën, the eldest of Hílyalandur and Nildawen's children.

The latter only made a sorry face.

"Then don't be so easily annoyed," Rethtulu advised him. For him that would solve the problem.

"You know what they are like, brother dear," Malcimir reminded him. "Besides, they outnumber us. If they have their tempers again, no one can stand against them. Why we did not send them to fight Morgoth is still a mystery to me."

The family helped with the final touches and in no time at all the tables were set in the garden. A colourful hustle and bustle arose, everyone ran around and talked to each other. But that was the normal madness of this large family. In a complete babble of voices, everyone finally found their places and sat down. Hílyalandur hit his glass with a spoon, asking for silence and attention. He rose.

"Today is a rare day," he began.

Rethtulu rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to look like that at all, son!" his father admonished him sternly. "After all, this is about you! So: today is a rare day. After many, many years, Alacenandur has finally found time to spend his begetting day together with us."

"It was forced upon me, that's more like it," Rethtulu grumbled. Sometimes Lord Elrond was just impossible! But of course he would never say that thought out loud.

Hílyalandur waved it off. "It doesn't matter," he said. "You are here and done. So, since you finally are, this day should also be celebrated properly. So, enjoy yourselves!"

"Be sure to taste the cake!" exclaimed Nildawen to the crowd. "It is the recipe of your dear Vórimadis, my little boy, the one you particularly liked. But help yourself, I have more in the oven. Oh, it was so sudden, my little son showing up at our door, I wasn't prepared for that at all."

That lifted Rethtulu's spirits immensely. Vórimadis was his wife, even though he had lost her many years ago in the Dagor Aglareb. Along with her unborn child ... But no, on this day he did not want to think of losses long past!

Nildawen's words were taken by all as carte blanche to finally shovel some quite substantial portions of cake onto their plates. There was a pleasurable silence as they all tucked in.

"Honestly, little brother," Carname, the youngest of Rethtulu's three sisters, said with her mouth full. "Without meaning any harm: I am amazed that any woman has been able to soften herself for you. For you, of all people, who are as stiff as a broom!"

"What do you mean by that?", Rethtulu was indignant.

"Honestly now, uncle," said Fionime, Lótesel's son. "You're up in the mansion all the time, doing your service for the lord, and apart from that you only associate with all those high lords there. Sometimes, when Ceomon comes here and finds time to talk to us, he always emphasises that you have no social skills whatsoever. And honestly, just the way you're sitting there now, like you swallowed a stick, shows that he's right. Uncle, you're with your family and you don't have to attend Lord Elrond's formal reception or any of his other antics!"

Rethtulu opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times. "Boy!" he then said tersely, however. "I think I've stressed often enough to everyone here that you shouldn't believe everything Ceomon says. He just doesn't know what's proper, his way of serving is far too lax and informal."

Sendanen, Alcariën's eldest son, sighed and just wordlessly raised a hand. Three of the five fingers were missing and the thumb had also lost a good chunk. He had suffered this mutilation in a long-ago battle against marauding orcs in Lindon when he had carried the banner of the High King Gil-galad.

"I am only missing three and a half fingers," he said. "And yet I am wonderful with cutlery. Lord Maedhros possessed but one hand; to him you had justly had to cut food small. I suppose you won't have to do that with Lord Elrond, and you do it anyway, though Lord Elrond really has nowhere to mourn the loss of any part of his body, however tiny."

Rethtulu gave it up. His family would never understand. Yet it amazed him, especially with his parents, from whom, after all, he had inherited his profession. Many years ago they had served Finwe and later Feanor, through them he had received his position as Maedhros' valet in the first place.

The conversations turned to other things, which mostly revolved around Rethtulu, how he was doing, what he had to do and so on. Of course, there was also all kinds of gossip, who had married whom, who had done or said what strange things …

At some point, a discreet clearing of the throat penetrated the conversation. Nildawen turned to the originator.

"Oh!" she made, jumping up and bowing. "My Lord Elrond!"

Immediately all the other dinner guests rose and bowed as well, as the lord himself stood so suddenly in their garden. Elrond, however, only waved them off.

"Ah, sit down again," he said complacently and went to Rethtulu. He pressed a letter into his hand. "My apologies for forgetting your begetting day again." He smiled.

Rethtulu knew that smile only too well. Lord Elrond had copied it from King Gil-galad and even with him that smile had rarely meant anything good. He looked at the note. Then he looked up again, aghast.

"Uh...", he made unenthusiastically.

The smile widened. "Exactly!" Elrond seemed extremely taken with his idea. "Indefinite leave for this day in all years to come, until it will no longer be necessary. May that day never come!"

Still unable to articulate himself reasonably, Rethtulu decided he would rather say nothing at all.

Nildawen nudged him. "Well, thank him already," she urged, "it's a nice gift, isn't it?"

No doubt Rethtulu was thinking differently once again. Lord Elrond couldn't possibly be serious, he could never, ever give him leave for all his begetting days! He looked to his master. But he was quite serious. Rethtulu sighed in resignation. Lord Elrond was an impossibly stubborn person ...

"Thank you, Lord," he said dutifully.

Nildawen jumped up. "Of course you are welcome to stay with us for a while if you wish, lord," she offered. Quickly another chair was brought.

"I would be delighted," Elrond accepted the offer with a smile.

Rethtulu wished for the nearest hole in the ground. How he hated his begetting days! When they got as out of hand as this one, with his lord joining them, his loathing for them grew considerably. Unfortunately, he was clearly outnumbered ... He resigned himself to defeat.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a recorded family tree of Reth's family because without it I would get confused myself. 
> 
> seldonya - My son; Quenya  
> natyeta - You are also (still), You exist also (still); Quenya


End file.
